The two shadow-shrouded men stared at each other across the heavy oaken table. The bare lightbulb hanging above swung slightly, as if trying to touch the farther reaches of the dark room with its feeble light. Both men sat statue-like, their tense silence condemning the occasional sound of the night wind as it rattled the wooden shutters. Lying on the table between them was a metal briefcase and an open padlock beside it. The contents of the briefcase were spread across the hard wooden surface- glass vials, brown paper packets, a large flask of clear liquid that fizzed slightly, and a large pistol.

“Alright, Carlos. Take it or leave it.” The man shifted uncomfortably. “This is 100% pure MPM. You’ve tested it three times already.” He nodded at one of the glass vials, which had been opened. Inside was a silver powder so fine it approached liquidity.

The man who had spoken was of average height, thin yet well-muscled, and clad in a forest-green t-shirt and black cargo pants. His Hispanic skin complemented his ebony hair and his brown-blue eyes conveyed a watchful and cautious intelligence. This was Hector Domini, a 29-year-old outlaw, failed chemist, and up-and-coming drug dealer and “experimenter.” Hector, like a cuttlefish, was reserved, elusive, and easily forgettable. Unlike a cuttlefish, he was a 5’8” Hispanic man who did not have tentacles or a cuttlebone.

The man across from him made no sound. With a silent motion of his hand, he removed a large cloth bag from his coat. The soft flutter of 500-peso bills resounded in the quiet room as the bag thumped onto the table. Hector smiled an uneasy smile and thanked Carlos with a nod as he took the bag.

The man called Carlos stood suddenly. “If I find out you scammed me, Domini…” His voice was a dagger of ice. Hector shrank back into his seat as the man continued. “You will regret it.” He loomed farther over the table.

“Yes, I’m sure I would, but listen- I didn’t rip you off. You’ve trusted me for years. Why are you so skeptical now?”

Carlos hesitated. Hector’s tactic had worked, and now he stood from his chair as well, facing the other man eye-to-eye. Finally, Carlos spoke in a reluctant, resigned voice. “It’s for a customer, not for me. Some billionaire in America. They want the best MPM on the market, and if it doesn’t exceed their expectations, I’m in more than hot water. I’m trusting you when you say that’s 100% pure. If not… they’ve threatened to talk to Flores.”

Hector gasped, winced, and then took on a sympathetic expression. Flores? Oh man… “Don’t worry. I’ve done more purification work on that batch than on anything else I’ve done for years.” It was not surprising to Hector that the aforementioned billionaire was so adamant about purity- the drug MPM, one of Hector’s own wildly successful creations, was difficult to find by any standard, and only a few drug dealers beside Hector himself knew how to create it properly. One had to be careful that they were getting authentic, pure MPM and not a cheap imitation. Despite himself, he felt proud that his own drug could become so sought-after.

Carlos resumed his hard, stony expression. He nodded, businesslike, repacked the briefcase, and made his way to the exit of the building. He cracked open the heavy wooden door and peeked outside, looking back and forth across the dark and empty street. As Carlos started to leave, he turned and looked Hector straight in the eye.

“Be careful out there.” He paused, thinking. “Fare well, one in the shadows.”

Hector nodded slightly. The phrase was the beginning of a years-old password once used by many drug-dealers. Now, it was obsolete, but still used as a greeting or parting message by some. He struggled to remember the countersign.

“Prosper in the dark.”

With that, Carlos stepped out the door and Hector was left alone. Minutes passed in silence- if the building was being watched, Hector knew more than to follow directly after Carlos. He passed the time counting the money he had been given- after 30 minutes, Hector had counted one million pesos, grouped into bundles of ten thousand. He smiled, switched off the lightbulb above, and went to the door. Pressing his ear against the wood, he made sure he could hear nothing- and then he edged the door open.

Outside, it was almost pitch-dark. This was San Pedro, an extremely small and run-down community in the midst of the Chihuahuan Desert. The street Hector looked out on was mostly abandoned, but he could make out lights twinkling on two or three houses farther down. The moon was shrouded in a spectral wreath of wispy clouds. There was no one outside, as far as he could see, so Hector stepped onto the cracked pavement in front of the deserted adobe building he had just emerged from. It was once a restaurant in ages long past, or so Hector had heard- one couldn’t tell from the bland front or the boarded-up windows.

As Hector made his way down an alleyway, something caught his eye on the ground ahead. An eerie blue light was visible, glinting in the shadows ahead. He caught his breath and stopped, trying to make out what the light was. As he slowly approached the light, it took form, realizing itself into- A fern? Not four feet in front of him was a small fern. Its fronds glowed with an electric light, and its edges shimmered like blue fire. Hector had passed through this alley innumerable times, but he had never seen such a plant. He carefully reached out to take it. I’ve never heard of anything like this. I’ll research it back home. As soon as he touched the fern, however, a sudden flash seared his mind. He reeled, stumbled, and fell, still clutching the fern. As the pain faded and his vision cleared, Hector felt a slight tingling, as if his nerves had malfunctioned.

He quickly rose, stuffing the fern unceremoniously into his pocket- yet even then, he could feel its presence. Running, he managed to reach his car without further incident. The dusty orange Land Cruiser was battered by years of use and disuse, but it worked like a charm. As Hector drove home, he wondered-

What just happened?